


A Child Shall Lead

by Kit_SummerIsle



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cybertron, Gen, Matrix - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically it is an AU-ish story, based on G1 characters, but the back-story is very different from canon. The Matrix is not a benevolent God, Optimus is not what they thought he is and Prowl can lead. Among others. Ohh, and the war is over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Decision

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is loosely based on a kinkmeme request, but without kinks, a pairing even, so I treat it as a bunny and post it here only. 
> 
> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=14279936#t14279936

Optimus Prime’s voice was firm and determined, befitting for his station – the one he was about to part soon if things went the way they should be. He sat at the head of the meeting table, fielding questions for nearly a joor now with his customary calm and did not let them deviate from the main issue. It was a far too important one.

“I will not stand in the way of peace. If the Decepticons accept the treaty this way, I will gladly and immediately stand down.”

The Autobot officers in the room looked furious and outraged by the notion itself and gave words to their protests voraciously. They were as agitated as he was calm, as outraged as he was secretly relieved by the idea.

“No way!”

“You mustn’t, Optimus! It’s… it’s a ploy!”

“But we always had a Prime!”

“Maybe… maybe it was not meant to be.”

Most of the officers looked at Optimus Prime after his last, quiet utterance quizzically, but Prowl nodded to himself. He was one of those few who knew that Primes weren’t really chosen and definitely not asked if they wanted to become one. It was supposed to be an honour, that was the belief they all adhered to…. but in fact it was just a bit of ancient coding that made some rare mechs able to coexist with the Matrix. Which in itself wasn’t just a piece of dead metal either and far from wholly benevolent, but that went unsaid as always. One did not question supposedly holy relics while the priesthood had power. Another thing the war got them rid of and though few realized it yet, they were better off without it. 

“We can live without the Matrix. It is more important to end this war and I won’t let this chance slip away from us.”

It was a rare chance indeed. Because Megatron was damaged seriously in the last battle, remained in stasis and the medics couldn’t online him, no matter that the outer injuries were fixed, not Hook, not Knockout and not even Shockwave. Soundwave could detect no thoughts in his heavily damaged processor and his condition didn’t get better either. Though he could remain alive in stasis indefinitely – for a given definition of alive anyway - but it did nothing to hearten the Decepticons in general.

They were basically starving both on Earth and on Cybertron, lacking materials, energon and expertise; their raids were defused more and more by Autobots and Humans working in tandem. And Starscream, who was in command of the Decepticons, once he assessed the situation realistically and without Megatron’s blind animosity in the way, contacted the Autobots with an offer to parley with the support of Soundwave - and Optimus Prime couldn’t say no to his proposal. None of them could say no to peace really, but that was before the Seekers’ only demand they were adamant to have…

“Can you live without the Matrix, Optimus?” – Jazz’s question brought them up short and silenced the many-toned cacophony completely.

“There is no precedent for this. I don’t know. But I’m willing to make even that sacrifice for peace.”

Begging blue optics of many shades, many pairs turned towards the medic, asking silently, wanting reassurance. Optimus wasn’t afraid, but he also wanted to know. But Ratchet had no definite answers either.

“In the best scenario, you’ll revert to your pre-Matrix frame. Might or might not retain the memories… probably not.”

“Evidence points that the Matrix would save those memories.” – Optimus noted with a slightly strained expression that had many of them wonder, and Ratchet nodded.

“But if we don’t want to utilize it in the future, then you should backup those memories somewhere else too.”

“Sensible.”

It took another joor before Optimus convinced all his officers that he really and truly intended to go through with this plan and that Prowl, Starscream and whomever else they choose into the government could lead Cybertron better than the corrupt, pre-war senate and the priesthood, so very far removed from serving Primus into serving their own interests. He argued and convinced them that a Prime wasn’t strictly needed if they could work together and build a healthier society that didn’t produce inequality and rebelling masses.

“If you survive loosing the Matrix…” – Prowl added when most of the details were hammered out – “…there is nothing in the treaty to forbid you from being in that government. Once you are no Prime, only a simple mech…”

Optimus Prime nodded, though he didn’t look very enthusiastic. The Prime transformation was pure agony, that much he remembered, even if nothing else before and nomech gave him very good odds on surviving the reverse process. But he was ready to offer this sacrifice if it meant the end of the war and the rebuilding of Cybertron.

“We will see what happens.”

It didn’t take long after his agreement to make the treaty into reality. Starscream was suspicious of him agreeing so easily, but the Seekers hated the Primacy that destroyed Vos with a passion and once he saw that Optimus was really going to step down, the Seeker proved to be a surprisingly helpful and more than adequate leader and held the Decepticons in check with a steel servo. In time he even stopped hissing at Optimus when they were in the same room, sensing the hated Matrix perfectly while around.

Optimus was slowly starting to believe that his sacrifice would not be in vain. Much as he was afraid of the transformation, he believed that he would be better off as a normal mech, or even deactivated – the Matrix was rarely helpful but it took a heavy toll from his frame and processor, one that he was warned about, one that would eventually drive him mad, as it did with most Primes. Why did they need it, he wasn’t so sure even after a few hundred millenias of living with the relic, aside from the religious tradition.

Still, he was quite apprehensive when, after a few decaorns of preparations and meetings they were ready to commit themselves to the final acts. He would witness the signing of the treaty and straight on afterwards the assembled Autobot and Decepticon officers would watch over as the nervous medics removed the Matrix from him, thereby sealing the peace between the factions. It was a momentous occasion, the end of the war, the start of rebuilding and new lives. Hopefully.

The signing itself was uneventful, as none of the assembled mechs were very keen on protocol and ceremonies; simply after him, Prowl and Starscream, the selected officers all put their glyphs down on a specially prepared sheet of Cybertronium metal with the already engraved treaty on it, that was going to be displayed on the joint capital’s main square – and they also signed the more official and detailed form on a special datapad too. 

When they were ready, they saluted the occasion with a cube of high grade that should have broken the ice… but Optimus noted the growing tension all around despite of it. Strangely, the treaty seemed to almost shrink into the background for many in light of what was going to be next on their agenda. He certainly felt so, but then, it was his spark on the line. He declined beforehand of giving a speech, thinking that it would be too preposterous, but now it seemed strange just to lie down and let Ratchet pluck the Matrix from his chest.

It became even more queer with all the mechs watching on, through the semi-transparent foil curtain that separated him, the medics and the rest of the room with the observers. The Matrix too was roiling uneasily inside, like the artefact felt that its role was going to end and it would get no more hosts to carry it. Optimus felt the urge stronger and stronger to tell them to stop and rethink the whole thing – and freely admitted to himself that it was fear, pure and simple. Being mentally ready to sacrifice himself apparently didn’t mean that he wasn’t afraid of possibly going insane.


	2. Surprise

Outside the flimsy foil, Prowl stood stiffly between the scowling Jazz and the eager Starscream. What they were about to do was right and wrong at the same time and the controversial assessment threatened to glitch him when it would be most inappropriate. Still, he couldn’t help but go over and over again what they knew or guessed about the process. Ratchet quietly told him to be ready for Optimus to be deactivated. The transformation was heavy, painful and dangerous and only the Matrix itself helped the hosts to survive it – now, that it was going to come out, Optimus would have to survive it on his own and he didn’t give good odds for that.

On top of it, they didn’t know what to expect if he did survive either. Optimus had no memories of before and the records were lost eons ago in the war. No mech seemed to remember just who and what Orion was like; Prowl, as he researched the matter found that no records existed any more and even the rumours of him having been a dockworker or a librarian were just that: rumours, lacking any proof to either way. It was almost like the matter was a secret or everyone involved deleted it from their memory banks, leaving only a single designation for them as clue.

It made them a bit nervous, not to know how to handle the Prime afterwards. Or rather Optimus, a mech who might be a complete stranger to all of them, who might be angry or even inimical to them for what was done to him… there was just no certainty, no guidelines as to how to handle him afterwards. None of it made the tactician, or as he was now the nominal head of the government any calmer or assured. Optimus was more than just a leader, he was a friend of long time for many of them and they cared for him as deeply as he cared for them. That he would be a stranger or even a danger to them was hard to contemplate. Hence the restraints around him, justified by the agony of the transformation as well, but also as precaution. 

When the sparklight shone dimly through the foil and Ratchet leaned over the restrained form on the table, Prowl nearly moved to stop the proceedings. Jazz laid a servo on his arm, lightly, just showing his support and Prowl relaxed his doorwings marginally, apologetically nodding to his mate. He would see it through now. Starscream strained to see through the separation, his eagerness nearly palpable… and more than a bit irritating to the Praxian. 

As the medic straightened up from the supine frame and turned away to place the Matrix to the receptacle prepared for it, Prowl felt, rather than saw the first jerking of the form in front of them. In kliks though the flinches and jerks became outright trashing and then the screams started up. Prowl knew how Optimus could withstand pain, how much it must have hurt to actually shout and yell in agony.

Those screams would haunt his processor for a long time… and as he looked around many other processors too. Even Starscream, most adamant on this so far, now looked pensive, something like regret flashing through his faceplates and many others started to swear and grumble as the sounds of agony if anything even intensified, going on for agonizingly long breems.

“Can’t they… dunno, give him some painkillers…?” – Starscream murmured uneasily.

“None works in this case.”

The answer was brittle and the tone hard, like Prowl telling the Seeker that it was his insistence that forced this course of action. He was rewarded by the Seeker’s wings drooping a bit; not that he cared overasmuch.

The large frame of the Prime on the table started to shrink and the restraints tensed around the smaller shape, the medics loosening them as the transformation went on and on, with grinding, crunching, breaking plates, squashed and reformed internals, snapping cables finding their new configurations… and all the way through they were underscored by the screams of utter agony echoing in the otherwise deathly silent chamber.

The whole process took five breems and Prowl cursed the slagging idea all the way through it while remaining collected outwardly. Only Jazz noticed his rising anger and concern. They shouldn’t have accepted this. They shouldn’t have done this. Not like this. No mech deserved such pain, least of all Optimus. But it was of course far too late for those thoughts. There was no stopping, no turning back now and it was the only thing holding him back...

But then the screams started to become weaker, hoarse and broken, the thrashing dying down and Prowl leaned forward, fearing the worst. Ratchet’s swearing just intensified his feeling of doom, the medics, all of them leaning over the much smaller form now and Prowl couldn’t stay on his place any more. With the silently cursing, grim-looking Jazz in tow, he slammed through the transparent separation and was by the table in a klik.

It was a good thing that Jazz was right behind him, because he nearly fell backwards in shock, his smaller mate grabbing him to steady his stumbling form. Though Jazz was equally shocked, his field teeked of surprise and regret… The screams became lighter, higher and weaker wailing like the being on the table was at the end of his strength – but he was struggling against the restraints now, deep blue optics staring up at them in desperate, terrified wideness, shining with tears…

He was smaller now, much smaller, thinner and unarmoured and it took nearly a breem for Prowl’s meta to work out exactly what that smallness, that higher tone and those huge, fearfully shining optics meant… his processor whirled, his spark flared queasily and static started to edge his vision…

“Holy Primus on a hovercar…”

Jazz was quicker on the uptake but no less shocked. The medics also stared, none of them actually daring to touch the frame on the table, still weakly trashing against the bonds, the optics overflowing with tears. The sounds of pain and fear became articulate and pushed them even deeper into the shock…

“Let me go please! It hurts, let me go! What do you want?”

The small mech on the table whimpered, his wailing stuttering into frightened hiccups, and at long last Prowl’s processor tore itself out of the logic snarl and was able to articulate what he saw and understood… that yes, Optimus was a youngling now, he reverted to his pre-Matrix frame and again the glitch threatened to swallow Prowl’s processor, along with a sickening thought…

“Those slag-sucking afthelms had stuck the fragging Matrix into a youngling?”

Ratchet’s outraged voice cut the mounting tension with scalpel-like sharpness and Prowl couldn’t help but agree with the expletives, mentally adding some colourful ones to them in his own fury. He battled back the glitch by sheer force of will – he had no time to escape reality now.

“Creator, help! No, don’t do this, I don’t wanna, it hurts… let me go home please… NOOO!”

One of them should move, his processor noted among the furious and still shocked thoughts whirling around like a miniature tornado in it and Prowl acted on that little, sensible thought in the maelstrom. Stepping closer, he laid a careful servo on a thin, barely armoured shoulder and tried to speak without the darker emotions still suffusing his meta.

“Calm down, Orion. We won’t hurt you.”

Tear-brimmed, wide, fearful optics stared upwards and Prowl understood instinctly at once that he remembered nothing, that they were all complete and utter strangers to him and he would have his work cut out for him. They all would, but he simply had to do this.

“Who’re you? And why did you take me?”

How to explain a million vorns gone by, a sacrilege committed on him and a terrible war he led to a clueless, innocent youngling, he wondered. Jazz grimaced back at him, equally clueless and no less outraged. But they both felt the duty to make up to this small being what was done to him – even though it wasn’t their fault.

“’s okay, lil guy…” – he crooned and his friendly faceplates and smaller statue must have looked less scary for the youngling, because the blue optics snapped to him and the whimpering subsided somewhat – “We mean you no harm. You don’t know us, but we know you. I’m Jazz, by the way.”

Ratchet nearly destroyed the improvement as he choose that klik to plug into the youngling to check him over – but Prowl also moved, gently removing the restraints and gathering up the small frame into his embrace, ignoring the medic’s frown and the tense protest from him, daring anyone present to call his behaviour inappropriate. He simply ignored the medic’s grumbling over trying to calm Orion. Slowly stroking his back he introduced himself and the mechs around them and tried to keep him from panicking again. 

It was a development none of them has foreseen, none of them have prepared for. There were no younglings, not even the few mated pairs they had have even just planned one as far as they were at war. He and Jazz talked about it only as a plan for the future, when the rebuilding was at least started, when they could be certain that the peace would hold… and no other mech even gone as far as them. But he would care for this terrified youngling if no mech else would, Prowl knew. He owed that much for Optimus and he owed that much for this small, trembling being in his arms.

“It is all right now. Whatever those other mechs were going to do, you are safe now.”

He wasn’t going to tell Orion right now that he lost a few million vorns and all that he did in the meanwhile. It would be hard enough to learn that later. Glancing at Ratchet, Prowl gathered from the deepening frown that he learned something bad from the youngling’s memories, he quietly commed the medic, while outwardly he continued to calm Orion.

::Ratchet. What did you learn?::

::Fragging, slagging, good for nothing afthelms! The slaggers simply kidnapped him from their home, ignored his questions and chained him to a table to stick the Matrix in. Primus! No wonder he’s terrified!::

Prowl struggled to keep his rising anger from his field. Orion was now barely whimpering and his optics flickered with exhaustion and his will to stay online, drawing instinctly closer to Prowl. It wasn’t trust, not yet, but he was fearing Ratchet more, the medic probably reminding him of those mechs long ago. 

::And! He has not a single memory since. Completely blank on anything that happened after the Matrix.::

::It is too late to want to deactivate them. They are long gone.::

::Starscream was right, though in one thing. We slagging don’t need the Matrix if it requires this atrocity.::

Prowl was forced to agree with the medic in the light of this new information. He was starting to believe that Optimus Prime’s noble ethics stemmed from his own spark rather than the cruel and ruthless artefact. In which case his friend was better off without it… even if it cost him his memories, his adult frame and a rather hefty trauma to boot.

They would see it later, after he grew and matured… not again, since he was denied of younglinghood the first time, but with them instead of the priests’ cold, insensitive regimen and the forced growing up from his Primacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I freely admit that it is not my best fic and Prowl/Jazz is hard to write for me, as I don't usually write them; but it is good enough so I decided to publish it)

**Author's Note:**

> The title is both a reference to the Bible and homage to Star Trek. Figure that. :-)


End file.
